


leader

by cautiouslyoptimistic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic
Summary: anya is the one who tells her about the ones who have fallen from the skyor, clarke and lexa's perspectives in the weeks following the fall of mount weather
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Kudos: 60





	1. mutualism

**Author's Note:**

> hello all. some of you may recognize this, most of you won't. ages and ages ago I wrote fanfic under the name transientpermanence and theahhamoment. I'll be reposting everything I've ever written here so that everything will be in one place

Anya is the one who tells her about the ones who have fallen from the sky.

“My scouts say that they are children, Commander. Foolish and weak. Ridding ourselves of them will be simple.” Lexa considers the advice for a moment before sighing and shaking her head.

“No. If they are as foolish as you say, let the coming winter finish them for us. Leave them be.”

“Commander—”

“Leave them be, Anya,” she instructs, her voice brooking no argument. And even though she has been the Commander-in-training her entire life and the Commander for nearly four years, Lexa is still surprised when Anya immediately nods. “Do not allow them to get near our villages or near the Mountain Men’s territory. Kill them if necessary, then.” Confusion flicks over Anya’s face for a moment, but she hides it quickly enough.

“Yes, _heda_.”

xxx

“It is an act of war!” Anya shouts, and Lexa can hear the overwhelming grumble of agreement from her generals. “They burned down our villages _, heda_. _Jus drein jus daun_.”

“You wish war with the Sky People?” Lexa asks, twirling her knife with her fingers. “Apparently, these children are not as foolish as you claimed.” 

“There is a girl, with straw-colored hair and eyes the hue of the sky. She leads her people, pushes them to become stronger, to survive.” Lexa very nearly rolls her eyes. Anya has spoken about the girl before, has reported what her scouts have seen, and despite everything she has heard, Lexa remains unimpressed with the children who have fallen from the sky (as well as their leader).

“Very well, Anya,” she says at length, setting her knife down and standing. “If you wish a war, you may have it. I will send my warriors to fight with you, to kill these foolish Sky People. _Jus drein jus daun_.” She gives Anya a hundred warriors, and she knows that it is _more_ than enough to rid the ground of these invaders from the sky.

And yet, as she watches Anya set off, she feels uneasy—enemies like the Mountain Men are predictable, but how can one predict those who lived among the stars?

xxx

The first messenger that Anya sends claims that the sky girl leader wants to have peace.

The second messenger admits that arrows were released and gunshots rang, but the sky girl and Anya both live.

The third messenger tells her that the bridge has been destroyed, that many of her warriors have perished, that Anya’s second is dying.

Lexa does not wait for any more messengers. Anya, her friend and mentor, has failed to defeat the ones who have crashed into their homes and destroyed their villages, and so she sends Tristan and over two hundred warriors to relieve her.

“I want the Sky People dead,” she tells him, and he gives her a curt nod before heading out.

xxx

She watches the unnatural thing burn as it races to the ground, and she hopes that none of the Sky People survive the crash. But when her scouts determine that they have unfortunately survived, Lexa sends them a warning. And when they seem to take it seriously, she relaxes.

Until, of course, she hears the rumors: that the sky girl leader singlehandedly killed three hundred of her warriors, burned them alive. That this sky girl and her people have been taken by the Mountain Men. That the Sky People believe _her_ people have taken theirs.

Lexa pushes aside the pain that seizes her heart at the news of Anya’s demise and wonders if Gustus is right, if she should send her entire army to wipe out this new threat.

She decides she will wait, for now.

xxx

Indra tells her about the massacre—about the deaths of eighteen innocent people, _her_ people—and she decides she has underestimated this enemy long enough, has delegated far more than she should have. She has waited for far too long.

She realizes she must see to it personally.

xxx

When she meets Clarke for the first time, she expects groveling.

Anya had described the girl before, the girl with the straw-colored hair and eyes the hue of the sky, but somehow, that description does not do her credit. Anya never mentioned her expressive features—how her eyes shine with deep sadness and her shoulders bear a weight she clearly is struggling with. Yet despite that, she stands tall; she stands like a leader.

“You’re the one who burned three hundred of my warriors alive,” Lexa says, watching her. Instead of cowering, Clarke stares her down, one eyebrow rising almost sardonically.

“You’re the one who sent them there to kill us.” But Lexa remains unimpressed, and her hunch about this girl seems to be proven right as she begins to plead for her people. Lexa is almost willing to let Indra have her way—to kill the girl and finish this pointless discussion about the Mountain Men, the girl making promises she can in no way keep—when she says something interesting.

“I did—with Anya.” She pulls out a braided portion of Anya’s hair and hands it over, saying something that Lexa barely pays attention to. Because she’s struck—struck by how the Sky Girl knew enough of their traditions to do this, struck by her kindness, ingenuity, and cleverness (because Lexa is not naïve enough to believe that this is only a kindness; Clarke clearly has ulterior motives—she is intelligent enough to know that she _must_ invoke emotions to gain any sort of leverage in a situation where she has none). Lexa is struck, and she knows intuitively that that is _not_ good. Yet despite all the warnings in her head, she finds herself reluctantly impressed and intrigued by the Sky Girl. So she stands and steps forward—an attempt to intimidate a girl she now knows she cannot intimidate—and asks her to prove it. She asks her to prove it, and in doing so, Lexa decides to give Clarke of the Sky People a chance.

xxx

_“In general, a mutualism evolves and is maintained because its net effect is_ advantageous to both parties _.”_

xxx

After Clarke kills the boy she loves, Lexa wonders if she should have known better.

She was reluctantly moved by Clarke’s pleading, her selfless desire to take the boy’s place. And so she decided allowing a goodbye could do no harm—perhaps this Sky Girl leader can take solace in the goodbye, she remembers foolishly thinking.

She had underestimated the Sky Girl. She had failed to see how similar the two of them were. She believed the girl to be weak when she was—is—strong.

After Clarke kills the boy she loves, Lexa watches as she breaks, as she puts up walls that Lexa is intimately familiar with. And she wonders if she should have known better.

xxx

She doesn’t want to kill Gustus.

She can remember how, after Costia died, he was the only one who was able to quell her rage. She can still see the way he looked at her, the way he ignored their customs and gently took her hands and told her that she needed to be strong.

She remembers the words he told her, the lie that he never imagined she would so take to heart: _Hodnes laik kwelnes, Leksa_. _Yu ste heda. (You are the Commander,_ he tells her, and he leaves the most important part unsaid: _The Commander cannot afford weakness_ ).

She wants to hate the Sky People for this, but she knows that Gustus has brought this fate upon himself. Yet, though she knows it, Clarke’s words ring in her mind: _He did it for me_.

Then he dies for me, Lexa thinks, pushing away her fond memories this man who was her mentor, her friend, her guide, and she watches as the life fades from his body.

And she knows that tonight, when she is haunted by what she has done, there will be none who will take her hand and lovingly lie to her.

xxx

She feels a twinge of jealousy when Clarke expresses her faith in Bellamy. She has not felt the emotion in so long that she does not even recognize it, initially. But somehow, she convinces herself that she is merely annoyed by Clarke’s blind naivety. She finds she needs the reminder: _Hodnes laik kwelnes_.

xxx

When she’s told about the missile, she immediately knows what must be done. As much as she dislikes Bellamy (for reasons unrelated to Clarke, she tells herself forcefully), if he were discovered, _her_ people would pay the price. She knows that this is about more than freeing the ones held prisoner in the mountain: this is about putting an end to an enemy that has bled them dry and killed them for as long as they can remember. She can protect the future generations, and all it takes is _one_ difficult choice now.

She knows what must be done; yet, she turns to Clarke, fearing that the Sky Girl can see the desperation that leaks out of her when she says they must leave.

She fears Clarke will see that she’s willing to let an entire village burn to protect the rest of her people and their descendants, but she’s not willing to let Clarke burn too.

xxx

She shows weakness in front of Clarke of the Sky People when she admits, _Not everyone. Not you._ It is a vulnerability she never allows others to see, a part of her she has sealed off since becoming the Commander, since Costia’s death, since the loss of Anya and then Gustus, since she allowed her people to die for a greater cause. She shows pain, she shows regret, and she shows that beneath the Commander lies a girl who is lost, scared, insecure, and unwilling to lose another person she cares about.

She forgets Gustus’s lie for just a moment.

It is a mistake.

xxx

She wonders if the kiss is a mistake.

Perhaps, more likely, it is the events that lead up to the kiss that are mistakes: the collective amount of time spent alone, realizing that Clarke is the first to actually _see_ her (or see right through her), the fact that she increasingly finds that she considers Clarke’s pain _her_ pain, even the way she is willing to listen to Clarke over her own judgment (the way she unequivocally _trusts_ Clarke).

Perhaps, even, the mistake was long before any of that; perhaps it was when Clarke told her she needed her, filling Lexa’s chest with a warmth she had not felt in a long time.

Perhaps, Lexa concedes, the mistake is that, though she exerts great effort to teach Clarke love is weakness, she finds herself ignoring her own advice.

But the kiss, Lexa decides, the kiss is not a mistake.

xxx

When she’s offered the deal, it’s the first time since she met the Sky Girl that Lexa spares her no thought whatsoever.

“What do you think will happen when that door opens?” the Mountain Man asks her. “Your people will die. And you _know_ that. So, Commander, the question is, how many of your people are you willing to sacrifice for forty-five from the Ark?”

“How do I know you speak true?” she asks, pressing her blade into the skin of his neck. “How do I know my people will be safe?” The man smirks, and Lexa presses further.

“That’s the thing, Commander. With the forty-five, we don’t _need_ your people anymore.” She swallows, knowing this is not why they came. They wanted to defeat this enemy, to ensure they never caused harm again. Yet, that fight would be costly, and would be paid primarily with her people’s blood.

Lexa looks briefly away from the man, realizing he is giving her something she wants. Her people’s safety. The opportunity for future generations to grow without the fear of being captured and bled dry. He is offering exactly what she wants, and he is saying no more of her people have to die for it.

She could protect her people, protect the future of her people, and all it takes is _one_ difficult choice now. Yet the decision still seems impossible.

She pretends to not know why.

xxx

Clarke’s accusation that she does not care is a tactic she has used several times before, but this is the first time that the words hit their intended target, and Lexa feels herself grow defensive. Because she _needs_ Clarke to understand this betrayal, she needs Clarke to _know_ this has nothing to do with her and them and whatever thing had grown between them, that all the caring in the world would still not have changed her decision.

She makes this choice knowing she will lose the one person she has allowed herself to care for because _her_ _people_ come first, must come first, will _always_ come first. 

She makes this choice because if the price she must pay for her people’s safety is her heart, then she will gladly break it for them.

She makes this choice because she cannot be a person. She is the Commander, and she has a duty to her people.

But the way Clarke’s features darken, the way her shoulders set and her eyes fill with unshed tears, forces Lexa to admit that this is not something Clarke completely understands yet, and she finds herself hoping that it is something Clarke _never_ completely understands.

Naively, Lexa wishes for Clarke to be the _heda_ she herself cannot be: to be fair, just, and kind, to never have to resort to ruthlessness—to never have to shoulder so much that her back breaks beneath the weight. Naively, Lexa wishes, but she knows it is too late; even if Clarke doesn’t completely understand now, one day she will.

But of course, understanding may never mean forgiveness (and Lexa does not think she will ever deserve Clarke’s forgiveness).

"May we meet again." She turns away quickly after speaking, knowing there's no way she can keep up her façade. Her eyes are burning and each beat of her heart seems to send shards of ice through her veins, freezing every inch of her. 

She knows this is not a mistake—not for _her_ _people_ , anyway—and she would never dare hope she could take it back (her people are safe, her people come first, her people _must_ come first, they will _always_ come first). Yet, as she walks further away from Mount Weather, the dull ache in her icy muscles paining her more than she expected, she finds that she wishes it _were_ a mistake; a mistake can be fixed, but this, this sudden hollowing out of her heart (far worse than the damage it endured after Costia's death, a shattering she never thought would mend) is permanent. 

There is no coming back from this. 

Clarke wanted to believe that they deserved better, and she so wants that to be true. But the truth is bitter and cold and it beats in time with the ache in her chest: for her, it will never be about what she wants or deserves. 

_Hodnes laik kwelnes, Leksa_. _Yu ste heda._

xxx

_“In general, a mutualism evolves and is maintained because its net effect is advantageous to both parties. If the net effect of a mutualism were to impair growth, survival, or reproduction of one of the interacting species, the ecological interests of that species would not be served, and_ the mutualism mightbreak down _.”_

xxx

When she learns about Lincoln's escape, she knows Indra must have set him free. 

She tells her warriors that Lincoln is no longer _Trigedakru_ , that he can never come back and never be treated as one of their own, but orders that he is not to be harmed if seen. 

She says nothing to Indra.

xxx

Scouts tell her that the Sky People have returned to their camp, injured but alive (and Lexa ignores the overwhelming relief that floods through her when she hears this news).

"If they have defeated the Mountain Men they are dangerous, _heda_ ," one of her generals says, shaking his head. Indra snorts.

"The Sky People are full of spirit, but they are weak. They pose no danger."

"We should not let this opportunity pass, Commander," he presses, ignoring Indra. "We can eliminate them now, rid ourselves of this enemy we do not understand." Lexa stares at him for a moment, and then turns to Indra.

"The Sky People are strong, Indra," she says softly, thinking of Clarke and burden she struggles to carry on her shoulders (a burden Lexa understands better than anyone, for she carries it too). "They pose a threat to our people." And then, for an unfathomable reason, she thinks of Clarke's eyes, of the betrayal that filled them and she swallows. 

"War, _heda_ , is not the answer," Indra says, and Lexa wants to smile at the older woman's change of heart. It feels like years have passed since she wanted all the Sky People dead. 

"I said nothing about war, Indra," she answers, nearly rolling her eyes. "I have betrayed the alliance once, I will not do so again." Her war-loving general seems enraged, but a look from her keeps him silent. 

"They will not take kindly to you, Commander," Indra says, her tone markedly different from before. Lexa thinks Indra sounds, dare she say it, _relieved_. Perhaps even slightly grateful. For the first time, Lexa wonders if Indra had grown fond of her second, if Indra considered herself a _nomon_ to the sky girl.

"No. But I will not be going. I must return to Polis, settle a few matters.” She studies Indra for a moment and decides there is no one better to delegate this task to. Indra will ensure the _Skaikru_ do not come to harm. “I leave the Sky People to you, Indra. Speak with Clarke, tell her that the alliance still stands." Indra nods, but there's something in her eyes that makes Lexa wonder if she has understood more than she lets on. 

And the very thought terrifies her. 

xxx

The rumors fly. 

There are stories of a girl with straw-colored hair and eyes the hue of the sky, a girl who has fallen from the heavens and singlehandedly defeated the Mountain Men. Whispers follow Lexa wherever she treads: here is the Commander who made peace with the girl from the sky. Here is the Commander who saved our people.

Here is the Commander who has doomed us all by betraying _Klok_ _kom_ _Skaikru_. 

She knows what her people want from her. They want safety, they want security. They have been terrorized by the Mountain Men for as long as anyone can remember, and with that enemy now gone forever, her people fear the emergence of a new one—Clarke.

But what her people do not know is that Lexa fears Clarke too, though not for the same reasons. Because Lexa doesn’t fear what Clarke will do, but what she’ll say. Most of all, Lexa fears the censure and disgust that will fill Clarke’s eyes if they meet again.

And so, for the first time, she indulges her selfish side, and does not do as her people require.

xxx

Lexa has not even been in Polis for a week when Indra arrives bearing news.

“Clarke of the Sky People,” she says, “has left. Taken to wandering the trees aimlessly.” Lexa frowns at the words, unable to imagine Clarke leaving her people. They were all she thought about, the only force that drove her forward. For her to leave them would mean something terrible had happened. “It seems, _heda_ , the Mountain was not defeated, but destroyed.”

“What do you mean?” Though she asks, she already knows the answer. She already can imagine what Clarke was forced to do because she was abandoned, betrayed, by someone she thought a friend—someone she had thought she could trust.

“ _Klok kom Skaikru_ killed them all. Men, women, children. And she has left her people. She claims it is to bear the weight of what she has done. To bear her wrongdoings on her own.” Lexa can hear Clarke’s voice in her head, hear her ask if they deserve better. And she suddenly wishes she had just said no. Because if she had said no, perhaps she could have somehow shielded Clarke from the pain she is most likely drowning in—if she had hardened Clarke’s heart like she meant to, made it more like her own as she had intended from the start, perhaps she could have prevented its shattering.

“Indra, speak true. How was she?” Indra says nothing for so long that Lexa thinks she’s about to disobey a direct order, but then she averts her eyes.

“She suffers, _heda_.”

Three words are all it takes. Three words, and Lexa’s heart breaks all over again.

xxx

The first Sky Person she speaks with since the fall of the Mountain is Marcus Kane. Somehow, considering he is also the first Sky Person she met, this seems fitting.

“We don’t want a war, Commander. Our people are safe, and so are yours. There’re no hard feelings on our side—” Bellamy snorts, but he says nothing and Marcus continues speaking. “But you have to understand that my people don’t trust the alliance.” As Lexa considers his words, she looks at the others in her tent. Abby Griffin stands by the flap, looking heartbroken and furious, while Bellamy stands to the right of Marcus Kane, his head held high and his eyes never leaving hers.

“I understand. How can I alleviate your fears?”

“Give us Clarke back,” Abby blurts, stepping forward. “Give her back. When she tells us that it’s okay to trust you, we will.” Lexa frowns, unsure what Abby is accusing her of.

“Clarke is not here,” she says softly.

“No. That’s not true. She can’t have gone off on her own! She has to be with you!” Lexa doesn’t respond to the woman’s frantic cries, instead choosing to watch as Marcus gently leads her out, asking her to calm down. It takes Lexa a second to realize Bellamy has not left.

“Clarke is not here,” she says before he can speak. “But even if she were, I would not ask her to leave if she did not wish it.” He stares at her for a second, something on his face shifting, and he lets out a sigh.

“Yeah.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “When you find her, convince her to come back.” Lexa ignores his certainty that she will find Clarke and instead studies him closely.

“Why don’t you look for her?” she asks finally, realizing this is a question she has had for some time—since the second Bellamy entered the tent with Marcus and Abby. He looks uncomfortable, and Lexa realizes this is something he must ask himself every day since Clarke has left.

“My people need me to stay,” he says after a short pause, and then, so quietly Lexa almost misses it, he adds, “and she asked me to stay.”

_Don’t we deserve better than that_ , Clarke had asked.

And the answer for all leaders, Lexa realizes, is an unequivocal _no_.

xxx

Her people grow restless, fearing another war is inevitable, and yet it still takes several more days for Lexa to decide she will go looking for Clarke.

She goes to Mount Weather first, not only because she is sure that at some point, Clarke is likely to return to the place, but also because she wants to see the aftermath of Clarke’s decision (a decision she was forced to make only because of _her)._ But when she notices the freshly dug earth, she realizes Clarke must have already come and gone. It makes sense, really. Clarke, whose heart bled for everyone, would begin to punish herself as soon as she possibly could.

A stone and flowers mark the grave, and Lexa wonders who it is that Clarke felt so strongly for that she went through so much trouble. After a second, Lexa realizes it doesn’t matter, and she walks over to the grave (telling her guards to give her privacy) before stooping down and pressing her fingers to the stone.

“You need not have died,” she finds herself saying softly, “and you have every right to rage against the living.” She bites her lip, and stands shakily. “But do not rage against Clarke. Hate me, haunt me, and blame _me_.”

She turns around, knowing it is not necessary to check the Mountain. Clarke would not have stayed here, and Lexa does not wish to see more evidence of Clarke’s suffering.

xxx

Lexa sees Clarke again sixteen days after turning her back on her.

She’s sleeping in what Lexa knows is called a ‘dropship,’ shivering against the cold. For a moment, all Lexa can do is stare, stare at this girl who once stood so tall and is now reduced to a broken shell of what she once was. She stares, and she hates herself for what she forced this girl to become. Suddenly, no amount of reminders that she is only here for her people is enough for her to shake Clarke awake and force her to return to her camp.

Suddenly, Lexa decides she is only here for Clarke.

She starts a fire first, then lays down her bedding, asking her guards to help her gently carry Clarke out of the dropship before she promptly sends them away. She refuses to look at Clarke, refuses to wonder what sort of state she must be in for her to collect firewood she never used, to hunt food she never ate, to carry a pack around that was clearly never opened. Instead, Lexa preoccupies herself with making a late lunch, knowing that Clarke _must_ eat the second she wakes.

Even when she hears Clarke sit up, she doesn’t look at her. “You are awake. Good.”

“What’re _you_ doing here?” Clarke asks, and Lexa nearly winces at the harshness of her tone. This is not wholly unexpected—she knows Clarke has no reason to want her around, no reason to trust her—yet it still pains her. And when she finally looks at Clarke, she knows she is having trouble hiding her emotions.

“I do not know,” she lies, averting her eyes. _I am here to restore the alliance_ , she wants to say. _I am here to help you. I am here to ensure you live._ She looks all around her, and instead of the words she wants to say, she smudges the truth. “Your defeat of the Mountain Men raises issues among the clans,” she says, turning back to Clarke. This is true, though their issues are solely with the Sky People, and not each other. “They no longer have a common enemy and I fear we will be at war against each other.”

“That’s not _my_ problem,” Clarke tells her, and Lexa nods. Of course, this too, is not true. Clarke is the key to keeping her people safe. Clarke is the only one who can prevent a war. Yet Lexa is unwilling to take the easy way out of her problems. It will be difficult, but she can keep the alliance alive for a short time.

She can give Clarke the opportunity to heal before she is forced to return to her people (and Clarke _will_ be forced to return, because she is the _Skaikru’s heda_ , and whether she likes it or not, that will never change).

“No,” she says, wondering how long she can go lying to Clarke. “But it is a problem that will require me to return to Polis soon. And after Indra—” She stops, realizing she has said too much. “I wished to see you before I left.” It is the first honest thing she has said, and that knowledge hurts more than it should.

“To convince me to come with you?”

“No. I believe I gave up the right to ask you to come with me to Polis soon after I turned my back on you and your people.” Clarke stares at her for a moment, and Lexa wonders what it is that she’s seen, and Lexa fears that she has revealed too much.

“Is that _regret_ , Lexa?” Clarke asks her incredulously. Lexa doesn’t know why Clarke asks—it’s obvious she already knows the answer.

“No. I do not regret my decision, and I would not take it back, even if I could.” She stops and looks at Clarke, unable to quell the sudden surge of sadness that seeps into her very bones. She didn’t deserve better—she doesn’t deserve better—but Clarke does. Clarke deserves so much more. “But regret and guilt are two very different things. Do you understand?” Clarke doesn’t respond, and Lexa turns back to the squirrel, making sure to watch Clarke swallow (and if it’s clear that she is struggling, if she looks conflicted, Lexa doesn’t bring it up. She already knows how torn Clarke must be feeling—she has felt it, too). It is important for the girl to eat, to build up her strength. Besides, if Clarke has forgotten how to take care of herself, Lexa decides she will be Clarke’s reminder. 

After what seem like hours, Clarke looks up at her and says two words which make Lexa’s chest fill with warmth, with hope, and with despair: “I do.”

Because if Clarke understands, it means there’s no hate in her heart.

Because if Clarke understands, it means that one day (not today, and not anytime soon), there could be forgiveness.

But if Clarke understands, it means she is a true leader, it means she has realized the sacrifices a leader must make, and most of all, it means she will never stop suffering.

And Lexa somehow cannot convince herself that the first two can make up for the third.

xxx

After Clarke falls asleep, Lexa asks two of her warriors to keep watch over the girl, to keep her safe, and then leaves, immediately setting out for Camp Jaha.

Bellamy, Marcus, and Abby meet her at the gate, and surprisingly, let her in with no fuss. Lexa briefly wonders if they’ll kill her here, where it will be so easy, but none of the Sky People look inclined to do anything but talk.

And talk they do. For hours, well into the night and the next morning, they do nothing but talk in the cold metal contraption. They discuss treaties and terms, some outrageous and some seemingly pointless, and Lexa can feel her patience wear thin. But she perseveres, knowing that this must be done. She must protect her people (and if in her heart of hearts she knows that she is doing this to protect Clarke too, she pretends otherwise).

“I agree to all of your terms,” she says finally, looking at Indra briefly to see her nod her approval, and by the widening of Marcus and Bellamy’s eyes, they know how incredible this is: A trade route will be established, given aid for the winter, and the _Skaikru_ would be allowed to keep their weapons. In return, they would help rebuild Tondc, turn the Reapers back into men, and give her people their knowledge of science and technology.

“So where’s Clarke?” Abby asks, giving Lexa a cold look that she does not quite understand. She wonders if the older woman still believes she has hidden Clarke away and is actively keeping her from returning.

“Clarke is not a part of this deal.”

“Of course she is! If we don’t get her back, there’ll be no alliance.” Lexa, who is brimming with frustration, who is tired of working so hard to get _nowhere_ , finally snaps.

“Make no mistake, Abby of the Sky People, you need this alliance far more than my people. You are outnumbered, weak, and virtually surrounded.” Marcus looks shocked by her sudden change in tone, but Bellamy just stares at her impassively. “I agree to your terms only because it is what Clarke would want. I prevent my people from attacking because I must right my wrong. But do not presume my patience has no limits.”

“Commander,” Marcus begins, but Lexa has had enough. She stands, briefly wondering if choosing the easy way out (if forcing Clarke to return) would have been the better option.

“No. I will no longer discuss this. Clarke has made her choice. Do you value her enough to respect it?” Silence follows her words, and Lexa supposes she has gotten her answer.

xxx

_“In general, a mutualism evolves and is maintained because its net effect is advantageous to both parties. If the net effect of a mutualism were to impair growth, survival, or reproduction of one of the interacting species, the ecological interests of that species would not be served, and the mutualism might break down,_ at least temporarily _.”_

xxx

It is hard for her to return to the dropship.

A strange divide has taken a hold of her: on one hand, she aches to see Clarke, to help her, to mend the trust she broke when she abandoned her; yet, on the other hand, merely the thought of returning to the site where her warriors burned leaves her feeling as though she cannot breathe. Because they were three hundred people with families, three hundred people who had loved ones, three hundred people she had looked in the eye and said: “Go and die for me.”

But the dead are gone, and Clarke will be hungry, so Lexa returns to the dropship with a heavy heart and a pack of food, nodding to the warriors who stand guard over the Sky Girl when she passes them.

Clarke, of course, refuses to acknowledge her presence at first. She is laying on her back, staring up at the clouds, and the only indication that she even knows Lexa is there is the way her fists clench infinitesimally. But Lexa does not mind the silence—she even feels she deserves it—and she stokes the fire, cooks the rabbit she caught on the way here, and then hands a plate over to Clarke, watching her carefully as she eats. Less than an hour later, Lexa leaves with a heart as heavy as when she arrived (perhaps heavier), and she goes off to meet Bellamy and Marcus to discuss the newest ridiculous terms the _Skaikru_ have thought up (because the ones she agreed to before are no longer ‘enough’ without Clarke).

She repeats this routine for three days before there is a change: Clarke speaks to her.

“Why do you leave after only a few hours?” she asks, not looking at her, not even bothering to sit up. But Lexa is too glad that Clarke has chosen to speak at all to feel offended at the way she is being addressed.

“I’m the Commander _,_ Clarke,” she says softly, as if the Sky Girl needs the reminder. “I have duties to attend to.” Clarke only nods in response, but when Lexa is finished preparing their lunch, Clarke sits up and holds out her plate. It’s only then that Lexa notices she had not needed to tend to the fire when she arrived.

Years spent schooling her every reaction pays off, because Lexa is able to hide her smile.

xxx

After a grueling week spent listening to Abby shout for her daughter back (which Lexa feels an increasing amount of guilt, because it is obvious Abby suffers), renegotiating the alliance for what seems the hundredth time, and visiting Clarke, there is finally a breakthrough.

Bellamy tells Abby that they can trust the alliance without Clarke; Marcus finally agrees that the Mountain be left untouched except for medical supplies (because though Lexa is reluctantly willing to allow them to keep their guns, she will not let them have access to more weapons); and, most importantly, Clarke speaks to her again.

“Why do you keep coming back here?” she asks quietly, not looking at her. And there is so much Lexa wishes she could say. _I am here for the alliance._ But of course, that is technically a lie. _I am here to help you. I am here to ensure you live._ That is true, but it is not true enough. _I am here because you have suffered enough, borne enough, and it is my fault_.

“I do not know,” she finally says, looking at Clarke carefully, wondering if her thoughts are as transparent as she feels them to be.

When she visits the next day, she realizes that yes, her thoughts are completely transparent—that even after everything that has happened, Clarke can still see right through her. Because when she walks through the gates, she sees that the evidence of her peoples’ death has been cleared, and Clarke sits near the fire, looking at her expectantly.

Lexa does not hide her smile, but when Clarke asks her why she keeps coming back, she does not change her answer.

“I do not know.”

xxx

When she meets with her generals, she knows she will not like what they have to say.

“There are rumors in the _Skaikru_ camp that their leader wants war,” one says, shaking his head. “That she is willing to risk it all for _Klok kom Skaikru_.”

“Perhaps we are better off without their true leader,” Ryder says, frowning slightly. “Clarke may decide war is preferable, too.” Indra snorts, rolling her eyes.

“The Sky Girl loves peace. She would not allow it.”

“Then why do we not drag her back to her people? Why does the Commander allow the Sky Girl to flee like a coward?” There are murmurs of assent, despite Indra’s glares.

“ _Klok kom Skaikru_ is dangerous, _heda_ ,” Ryder says, not meeting Lexa’s eyes—as if he knows he is crossing the line. “Why do we not rid ourselves of this threat?”

“Clarke is not a threat, nor are her people. They will make a fine addition to the coalition,” Lexa says softly. But her generals have grown bold and several shake their heads.

“But—”

_“Ai laik heda Leksa kom Trikru._ Do you _dare_ defy me?” Nothing but silence meets her words, and Lexa knows she has made her point effectively enough. Yet she pulls out her dagger and stabs it into the war table, a clear challenge. “ _Klok kom Skaikru_ has fought like a warrior, and like any warrior, she deserves the time to heal.” Lexa stares her generals—her warriors—down, knowing that if any of them choose to accept the challenge, the Sky People will lose whatever protection they have— _Clarke_ will lose her protection. “ _Shish op!_ ” she commands. “Do you stand against me?”

“No, _heda_ ,” they say in almost perfect unison.

“Your command is not in question,” Ryder continues gruffly. “And if you wish for the _Skaikru_ to be part of the coalition, then it will be so.” He looks down and away from her. “We fear _Klok kom Skaikru_. She has proven herself to be unpredictable. What if she is a threat, _heda?”_ Lexa frowns, but does not respond right away even though her answer is already on her lips. Her people need to know that she has thought this through—her people need to understand her decision to trust Clarke is not only made with her heart.

“She is not unpredictable. She does what is necessary for her people to survive.” Ryder nods, and looks supremely uncomfortable as he does so.

“That is the point. What if she decides the _Trigedakru_ are unnecessary for her people’s survival?” Lexa studies him, but she realizes that she has no answer. At least, she does not have an answer that Ryder and her generals will want to hear: Clarke will do what is best for her people, just like Lexa. Just like any leader.

xxx

“Why do you keep coming back here? _I_ don’t even want to be here,” Clarke says when Lexa arrives on her tenth day of visits. She wants to laugh (because she knows how Clarke feels, knows how she wishes to surround herself with the death that follows her, yet is unable to completely throw away the comfort of human interaction—to go completely without some sort of _life_ ) but instead she just hands over the pack.

“You can always leave, Clarke,” she points out. “This is a self-imposed exile.” She hands over the pack of food before Clarke has the chance to respond, and the scowl forming on the Sky Girl’s face immediately turns into a look of gleeful shock.

“Don’t your people wonder where you’re sneaking all this food to every day?” she asks as she pulls out the freshly baked loaf of bread, breathing in its scent with an unconscious smile. 

“I am the _Commander_ ,” Lexa says as she sits down. “They don’t dare to question me.” She pauses for a moment, unsure if she is moving too quickly—pushing Clarke too soon—before realizing it does not matter. “Besides, where I go is no secret.” Clarke chokes on her bite of bread, and she glares at Lexa.

“You’ve _told_ people where I am?” she demands.

“I don’t need to,” she says, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral. “You are a legend, Clarke. You are the Sky Girl who defeated three hundred of my warriors, who single-handedly brought the Mountain Men to their knees. It would be foolish of my people to _not_ keep an eye on such a formidable enemy.” Lexa takes a bite of her bread, ignoring Clarke’s wide-eyed look of shock.

“I’m not their enemy.” The comment surprises Lexa more than she likes to admit, mostly because Clarke sounds so small. It’s as if she understands why the _Trigedakru_ would fear her, yet she is still pained by it. And Clarke’s pain is _her_ pain.

“My people are not so sure,” Lexa says softly, shaking her head, wanting to absolve Clarke but unsure how. “After what I did, and your mother’s desire to renegotiate our truce—”

“My mother what?”

“It is nothing important.” 

“What’s going on out there, Lexa?” She looks desperate, she looks fearful, and Lexa remembers that, like her, Clarke is a leader.

“I thought you no longer wished to be a leader, Clarke,” she says, knowing this will provoke Clarke. “Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t,” Clarke protests. “It doesn’t, but I can help you. I know how my mom thinks. There doesn’t have to be a war.” She is unable to help the laugh that escapes her. Lexa throws back her head and laughs because she has been tolerating Octavia’s glares and Abby’s accusations for more than a week to _prevent_ a war neither of their people want.

“War? Who said anything about war?” Clarke’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“Then what’s going on?”

“Your mother has asked us to help find you. She says she will only believe we mean the Sky People no harm when _you_ tell her so.” The words are bitter on Lexa’s tongue, but Clarke does not notice accompanying scowl.

“And your people don’t know what I’ll do, so they watch me,” Clarke mutters, comprehension flooding her face. Lexa only nods before she finishes the rest of her bread and stands.

“I meet with Marcus and Bellamy later today. Do you want me tell them where you are?” A part of Lexa hopes that Clarke will nod—that she will step up and share the burden that now rests solely on Lexa’s shoulders—but she knows that she hopes in vain. Clarke has not yet healed, and Lexa will carry the burden as long as she is able.

Her responsibility is to her people, but she can do this. For Clarke.

Thus, when Clarke shakes her head, Lexa is unsurprised, but that changes when Clarke speaks. “Why do you really keep coming here?” she asks, staring at Lexa as if she already knows the answer. And she does—or at least, she should know what Lexa _wants_ her to believe.

She is here for her people. She is here to keep the alliance alive because her people do not want war with _Klok kom Skaikru_. She is here because she is expected to be the one who makes peace just as she is the one expected to wage war (a duality she has trouble internalizing no matter how well she is able to conceal that fact).

But those are not the _only_ reasons she is here—and that is not something she is willing to tell Clarke.

“How you feel is important to my people,” Lexa says after an entire minute of silence.

“Right. I’m the one who left my people, not you.” It is Clarke’s cold laugh, the sudden ice that appears in her sky-blue eyes, that makes Lexa sit back down.

“I will choose my people over what I want every time, Clarke. I choose to put them first. But believe me when I say that, in this instance, my desires are the same as theirs.” She leans forward to ensure Clarke cannot look away. And though Lexa thinks this is a mistake, opening herself up this way, making this about more than her people, she is unwilling to take it back. “Do you understand?” Clarke gives her a curt nod.

“I do.” Two words is all it takes. Two words, and Lexa’s broken heart is somehow whole again.

xxx

“You can threaten war all you like, Commander. But there won’t be an alliance until Clarke tells us it’s okay to trust you.” Lexa stares impassively at Abby, then looks over at Bellamy, who seems sullen.

She does not blame him; they have been arguing over Abby’s conditions for the truce for several hours without break.

“Abby, she says she doesn’t know where Clarke is. How is she supposed to get Clarke to tell you anything?” Abby looks frustrated, and Lexa shares the feeling. She wonders if Indra is right whens she claims the meetings are just an excuse for Abby to come into their village to search futilely for her daughter.

“She has thousands of people at her command,” Abby says, and Lexa wonders briefly if the two of them have forgotten she is still there. She is not offended by the way they speak anymore, however. It has taken time, but she recognizes that this is just how the Sky People are— talkative, vaguely impertinent, and stubborn. “Why aren’t they looking for Clarke?” Bellamy looks over at Lexa apologetically for a moment and then lets out a big sigh. Lexa can tell he has heard this argument several times already.

Not for the first time, Lexa is thankful for the man’s presence in the negotiations; though Kane and Abby are intelligent and (relatively) open-minded, Bellamy—like Clarke—is a true leader.

“I want to find Clarke, too, Abby. You know I do. But we can’t ask Lexa to send out her people to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. Clarke needs time—she’ll be back. I know it.” Lexa frowns, suddenly interested in the conversation. She has always somewhat disliked Bellamy—mostly for reasons relating to Clarke—but now she knows why Clarke has such faith in him, why she trusts him explicitly. Because _he_ has faith in _her_ ; he trusts herexplicitly. Yet, even more importantly, he understands that his feelings are not a priority. So he pushes it aside for the good of Clarke.

But Lexa wonders how long he (and of course, herself) can continue to push aside their feelings for the good of Clarke when it is only their people who will suffer in the end. She wonders how much longer she can allow Clarke to heal in peace—how much longer she can hold the alliance together on her own—without plunging them all into another war.

xxx

_“In general, a mutualism evolves and is maintained because its net effect is advantageous to both parties. If the net effect of a mutualism were to impair growth, survival, or reproduction of one of the interacting species, the ecological interests of that species would not be served, and the mutualism might break down, at least temporarily. Should such a situation continue, the long term or evolutionary interests of that species might also fail to be served, and the mutualism might break down on a_ morepermanent basis _.”_

xxx

She and Bellamy are alone (Abby had left hours ago in a huff), discussing Kane’s idea for shared farmland, when he asks her if she’s _sure_ she doesn’t know where Clarke is. She pauses for only a second before she tells him yes. She lies, deciding to have faith in this young man—to have faith that he will come through and buy Clarke some more time to heal before she is forced to return to her people.

The next day, he gives her letters. “They’re for Clarke,” he says with a smirk. “It’s a shame no one knows where she is though.”

“Yes,” she replies, nodding slightly. “It is quite a shame.”

xxx

Clarke’s greeting has changed.

“Are you here only for your people?” she asks. Lexa’s fists clench as she searches for the right words: _I am here to help you. I am here to ensure you live_. _I am here because you have suffered enough, borne enough, and it is my fault_. _I am here for my people and your people._

_I am here because I_ want _to be here_.

In the end, she merely shakes her head, and hands over the letters.

And later, when she gets up to leave, Clarke tells her that she’ll see her tomorrow.

xxx

Raven’s gait is noisy.

Lexa supposes it is not the Sky Girl’s fault. Her leg is captured in an awful metal contraption, and though Lexa has heard the ‘brace’ is meant to help Raven walk, she does not understand _how_.

But, nonetheless, Raven’s gait is noisy, and it is almost offensive that she believes she has somehow fooled Lexa into leading her to Clarke.

This is a compromise, Lexa tells herself as she leads Raven to the dropship. She does not wish to betray Clarke’s trust (not again), but she also knows she is running out of time. Abby’s stubbornness and her people’s fears will reach a breaking point—regardless of who fires the first shot, soon there will be a war. For three weeks, Lexa has been treating Clarke with care. But she knows that it is fast approaching the moment she will be forced to shove Clarke out of her makeshift nest.

Raven, Lexa decides, will be a gentle shove. A way to make Clarke see what she has left behind—to make her see that she will need to return.

And though Raven is fooled, Clarke sees right through the ploy. “You knew she was following you, right?” Clarke asks hours later, when Raven gets up to leave. Lexa nods, slowly. “Thank you,” she says after a short pause. “She’s happy. If anyone deserves it, it’s her.” She smiles, and Lexa’s heart soars—not just because the gentle shove has worked, but because Clarke looks at her gratefully, a small but true smile on her lips.

“Imagine how much happier she would be if she no longer had to worry about her friend,” Lexa says, knowing she is pushing her luck. But Clarke laughs and shakes her head.

“She doesn’t need me. None of them do. It’s better this way.” Lexa sighs, realizing that Clarke is just as stubborn—if not more so—as the other Sky People.

“You’re their leader, Clarke. Run from it as much as you like, that is what you were born for.”

xxx

Raven tells her people where Clarke is, and Lexa feels a mixture of gratitude and annoyance.

Later, when she visits Clarke, she is asked if she deserves her people’s love, their support, their friendship.

“They are _your_ people, Clarke. I do not know how the _Skaikru_ treat their leaders.” 

“And the _Trigedakru_?”

“Their Commander is expected to sacrifice everything for her people, and in return, they fight and die for her. They are loyal to her.” Clarke looks at Lexa sadly for a moment before squeezing her hand gently, the gesture making Lexa’s heart skip a beat.

“I have nothing else to sacrifice,” she tells her. Lexa squeezes her hand back, but she shakes her head.

“You’re wrong, Clarke.” _You have me_ , she wants to say. But she can’t, because she belongs to her people, and her people (like all people) hoard the shattered pieces of their leader’s heart. _You have me_ , she wants to say, _you have whatever remains of me._

xxx

“Why do you keep coming back here, Lexa?” _I am here to help you. I am here to ensure you live_. _I am here because you have suffered enough, borne enough, and it is my fault_. _I am here for my people and your people. I am here because I_ want _to be here_.

_I am here for you._

“I do not know.”

xxx

Abby finally agrees to the terms. Kane grins widely, muttering about how he is glad this is over.

Bellamy gives her a small smile and a shrug. “To think, you could have avoided weeks of negotiations with those two,” he gestures to Abby and Kane with a grin. “Shame you didn’t know where Clarke was, right?” Lexa does not fight the smile that forms on her face.

“Yes,” she says. “It was quite a shame.”

xxx

“Do you think we’ll ever be forgiven?” Lexa’s eyes meet hers, not asking if Clarke believes they deserves forgiveness at all ( _No_ , is the answer Lexa has given herself long ago).

“When the guilt and pain threatens to drown you, remind yourself that you saved your people. That keeps the flood at bay.”

“That works for you?” ( _No,_ is the answer Lexa has given herself long ago. But that is not what Clarke needs to hear).

“Yes. Some days need more reminders than others, but yes. It works.”

xxx

They bring their children with them when they come to help with the rebuilding of Tondc. And Lexa’s shattered heart—messily repaired by a girl with straw-colored hair and eyes the hue of the sky—is warmed when she notices that the _Skaikru_ children and the _Trigedakru_ children play together.

xxx

“Why do you keep coming back here, Lexa?”

“What we did will haunt us till the end of our days. But I see no reason we should bear that alone. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I do.”

xxx

“It is incredible, _heda._ ” Nyko shakes his head in bewilderment. “Abby knows much about healing, and she claims there is much more we can do if we use the medicine from the mountain.” Lexa nods.

“Then use it.”

xxx

“Of course you went back,” she says, when Clarke tells her that she visited Camp Jaha. “Your people need their _heda._ ” Clarke stares at her for a moment before frowning.

“What about _your_ people? Weren’t you supposed to go to Polis?” Lexa smiles and shakes her head.

“I told you. My people and I have the same needs.”

_My people need you,_ she wants to say, _but I need you, too_. And judging by the way Clarke smiles at her, she understands.

xxx

_“In general, a mutualism evolves and is maintained because its net effect is advantageous to both parties. If the net effect of a mutualism were to impair growth, survival, or reproduction of one of the interacting species, the ecological interests of that species would not be served, and the mutualism might break down, at least temporarily. Should such a situation continue, the longer-term or evolutionary interests of that species might also fail to be served, and the mutualism might break down on a more permanent basis. Although it is possible for a mutualism to break down, some of these interactions have been_ maintained for millions of years. _”_


	2. burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when she tells bellamy that she doesn’t know where she’ll go, she’s being completely honest

When she tells Bellamy that she doesn’t know where she’ll go, she’s being completely honest. She knows where she _doesn’t_ want to be (Camp Jaha), but beyond that, she has no clue.

So when she walks away (half expecting Bellamy to chase after her, only partially sure that she could reject his offers of forgiveness a second time), carrying nothing but a pistol, she lets her feet do the thinking. She’s far too busy trying to ignore the emotions gnawing at her heart and the ache that’s settled somewhere in the pit of her stomach—an ache she knows she’ll never quite be free from, just like she’ll never quite be able to wash away the blood on her hands—to care where her feet are taking her.

Nonetheless, hours later—specifically, eight hours—she’s unsurprised to find herself back at the entrance to Mount Weather, standing in the very spot she stood when Lexa turned her back on the alliance (and on her, but she doesn’t like thinking about that). She remembers what she thought at that moment, how she stared at Lexa’s retreating figure for a brief moment, the sting of betrayal overpowering the logical, rational part of her mind.

She remembers thinking that Lexa was wrong. That she, Clarke, would _never_ do such a thing _._ But that was before _._

Before. She suddenly realizes that that’s the distinction she keeps making. The one thing she keeps coming back to.

Because, _before_ she was sent to the ground, she’d never have been willing to torture one man and slit another’s throat.

_Before_ the Grounders attacked, she’d never have been willing to burn three hundred people alive.

_Before_ the alliance with the Grounders, she’d never have been willing to kill the boy she loved (would never have thought that she’d turn into her mother).

_Before_ Lexa, she’d never have been willing to let a village burn.

_Before_ Mount Weather, she’d never have been willing to irradiate and murder an entire people—to kill innocent men, women, and _children_.

But then, none of that is true, really. Her hands shake as she realizes that the distinction she makes between _now_ and _before_ is a dichotomy that only really exists in her mind. There is no _now_ and _before_. The simple truth is that she was forced to make harder and harder choices in order to keep her people alive—in order to ensure they _survived_ —and those choices had more and more catastrophic consequences.

Clarke swallows and enters Mount Weather once more, for a moment allowing every drop of guilt flood through her, drowning her in pain and sorrow. She imagines children running along the hallways, tries to remember the smell that wafted through the corridor of level five before meals, even thinks she can almost hear the classical music still playing. Her throat constricts and her eyes burn with unshed tears, but she keeps walking, almost as if in a daze.

When she actually gets to level five, instead of the smell of food, the corridor is filled with the stench of death. Her people had left the dead alone—everyone was in a hurry to return to Camp, to treat the wounded and see their loved ones. But somehow, now, when no one is watching her or judging her—when no one expects her to be in charge, to be strong—Clarke allows herself to admit that this silent tomb is _not_ enough.

And when the tears begin to fall, she makes no effort to stave it.

Gripped by a sudden ferocity, Clarke drops the pistol in her hand (she doesn’t really think she’ll encounter any enemies here, and frankly, she doesn’t quite care), and raids sheets from the medical facility, from bedrooms—from anywhere she can find. And then, one by one, she covers the dead muttering a single phrase before she moves to the next body: “ _Yu gonplei ste odon_.”

Maya, however, stills her hand.

She had never actively _hated_ Maya, but she certainly disliked her. She had disliked the tone Maya used with her, disliked the way she silently judged her, disliked how Jasper trusted her so implicitly, easily condemning Clarke for being suspicious. Yet it was _Maya_ who protected her people. _Maya_ had saved Bellamy’s life, and then had _kept_ him and the others alive. Maya, who risked her life though she knew there likely wouldn’t be a future for her on the ground.

Clarke’s hands hover over Maya, unable to cover her with the sheet. It seems callous, it seems ungrateful _,_ it seems _wrong_ , to leave Maya here, trapped underground in death when she’d been trapped underground in life. She owes this girl so much, but it’s a debt she can never repay—because she _chose_ to pull the lever (a lever quite similar to the one Maya herself had refused to let her pull what seemed like years ago).

It takes less than a second for her to decide what to do. She finds a shovel—a real one, not like the makeshift ones they had _before_ at the dropship—on the agriculture level, and then goes outside, finds a clearing in the woods, and begins to dig. It’s long and taxing because the ground is hard and unforgiving, and despite the cold, Clarke is sweating after only ten minutes, but she doesn’t care. Because this work is good, this work clears her mind in a way nothing else has. But more importantly, she can do this (she’s alive, alive when hundreds of others are not), and she _has_ to do this, for Maya. For the girl she had misjudged, for the girl who had the strength to stand up for what she thought was right—even if that cost her life.

When she’s done digging, the shovel falls from her hands with a small thud as she stands there, suddenly feeling lost as she stares at the grave. It’s by no means deep—it’s not really a proper grave—but that’s the point, really. It’s a place where Maya can rest, eternally looking up at the stars, where she gets to be a part of a world she never had the chance to see.

She half drags, half carries Maya to the grave, holding back the sobs that threaten to tear at her throat. _Thank you,_ she had mouthed. _Thank you_. Thank you for protecting them, for saving them, for risking your life, for being kind and decent.

And now, the only words Clarke can think to say are, _I’m sorry._ But that’s _not_ enough, she knows it isn’t.

“In peace, may you leave this shore,” she finally says, after a minute of standing over the grave in silence. “In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels until our final journey to the ground.” She swallows, tosses a handful of flowers over the grave, and shakes her head. “ _Yu gonplei ste odon,_ Maya. And I’m _so_ _sorry_ for that.” She wants to say more, but there’s nothing more she can say—nothing that will matter, nothing that will change what happened, what she did. So she just turns and walks away without looking back. 

It occurs to her, as she returns to Mount Weather one final time to gather supplies, that _before,_ she had known she would never be able to escape the guilt and pain of letting Tondc burn, of killing Finn. And _now_? _Now,_ she knows she will never escape the ghosts of the innocents she killed in Mount Weather. 

Yet, it’s okay. Because being haunted, enduring pain, and drowning in guilt is just what she deserves.

xxx

Two days after the fall of Mount Weather, Clarke notices she’s being followed.

At first, she thinks it’s Lincoln or Bellamy—hell, even Octavia—because the stalker isn’t bothering to be subtle. But she doesn’t pay it any mind, deciding that as long as she is left alone, she can leave him—or her—alone too.

Four days after the fall of Mount Weather, Clarke wakes up to a knife at her throat.

“I could have killed you as you slept, Sky Girl,” she’s told. It takes her a moment to shake off the last vestiges of sleep, but once Clarke gets a good look at her stalker, she can’t help but let out a sigh.

“If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it two days ago.” She pushes the knife away from her neck and gets to her feet, keeping her back to a tree (she doesn’t trust any of the Grounders, not after _her_. But then, she doesn’t like thinking about that). “What do you want, Indra?” In the second of silence that follows, Clarke finds that she can’t decide if Indra is glaring at her or if the woman’s neutral look is just that intimidating.

“Rumors fly that one Sky Girl brought the Mountain Men to their knees.” Indra looks at her questioningly, but Clarke just frowns, wondering if there was a question in Indra’s statement that she somehow missed. “So it is true?”

“No, one Sky Girl did not bring the Mountain Men to their knees.” She closes her eyes and leans back against the tree behind her, suddenly feeling exhausted. She left Camp Jaha to escape, to accept the weight of her actions and carry the burden alone. Seeing Indra just reminded her of everything she wanted to leave behind (because she let Tondc burn to the ground, she killed Finn, she shot an old man she understood and sympathized with—even if she never really liked him). “The only thing the Sky Girl did was murder hundreds of innocents to save her people.”

“If the Mountain Men are gone, it is a great victory. Blood has answered blood. ” Clarke opens her eyes but she says nothing, and after a moment, Indra lets out a grunt. “The Commander asked me to give you a message: the truce still stands.” Clarke wants to snort; the only reason the truce is even in question is because Lexa’s knife is still wedged somewhere between Clarke’s shoulder blades. Instead, she raises her eyebrows questioningly.

“Why are you telling me this? You need to tell my people’s Chancellor.”

“But _you_ are in charge _._ ” Clarke can hear the challenge in Indra’s tone, the barely concealed disgust (for her or her people, she’s not quite sure). But there’s also a tinge of respect, and that’s the only reason she finds herself responding.

“Not anymore.”

“So you abandoned them?” It’s her smug tone that does it, really, the way she looks down on Clarke as if she’d expected nothing less. Clarke’s back straightens, her chin juts out, and suddenly, her mask—her “leader” façade—slips right into place, as if it had never left.

“My people need time to heal. And to do that, they need someone to blame for everything that’s happened—someone to bear the sins.” Her eyes narrow, and Indra seems surprised by the sudden hostility. “Since the sins are mine to begin with, _I_ bear it, so that they don’t have to.”

“Where will you go, Sky Girl?” Clarke is stumped—she had thought Indra would spout something about how she was being weak. Instead, Indra looks at her almost…approvingly.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, and Indra lets out another grunt.

“You are just like her,” she says, avoiding Clarke’s eyes, clearly not intending to elaborate, to explain who she’s talking about. “So much strength of spirit, but no direction, like a child.” She shakes her head, and when she meets Clarke’s eyes, there’s something besides anger, disgust, grudging respect, or hate. In fact, if Clarke didn’t know any better, she’d say that for a second, Indra almost looks at her _sadly_. “Your legs will give way long before you find the redemption you seek, Clarke of the Sky People.”

And Clarke pretends not to know what Indra means.

xxx

A week after Mount Weather has fallen, Clarke finds herself at the dropship.

She goes up the ladder to the upper floor (ignoring the damn hole Murphy blew into the only home they knew), and sits with her back against the cool metal wall, her knees pulled up to her chest.

After a minute of wishing things could be like _before_ , when all she needed to worry about was if she’d get floated when she turned eighteen, she starts to chronologically catalogue the hundreds of people whose blood is on her hands, committing the list to memory.

The tears start to flow with Atom.

xxx

Ten days after Mount Weather has fallen, she idly wonders if anyone would even imagine that she’d come back to the dropship. She also wonders if she _wants_ someone to come look.

Eleven days after Mount Weather has fallen, she realizes that no one will come to the dropship because no one wants to find her.

Twelve days after the fall of Mount Weather, Clarke decides that she deserves this too.

xxx

Two weeks after the fall of Mount Weather, Clarke can’t muster the energy to keep a fire alive. She decides that keeping warm is overrated anyway. Besides, she thinks, no amount of cold can match the ice that’s taken hold inside her.

xxx

Fifteen days after she murders over three hundred people (bringing her total count up to around nine hundred), Clarke wishes she didn’t have to survive anymore.

xxx

The first thing she’s aware of is that she’s no longer in the dropship.

She’s laying on something soft and warm, and she can hear the faint crackling of a fire. Despite the sudden fear that grips her—where is she, what’s going on?—she remains still, comfortable for the first time in weeks, maybe months. In fact, it’s only the smell of roasted squirrel—which makes her stomach grumble angrily for the first time in days—that compels her to sit up and get her bearings.

She’s not _in_ the dropship, but she can see the imposing metal figure just yards away. She wonders if someone had found her, if someone came looking for her, and despite everything, she’s unable to quell the sudden hope that fills her chest—because maybe she doesn’t have to bear it alone after all.

“You are awake. Good.” Suddenly, Clarke wishes she had just stayed asleep. She realizes she should have known better than to hope.

“What’re _you_ doing here?” Lexa, whose face is devoid of the paint that makes her look so much older and savage, looks at Clarke almost helplessly—or, as close as helpless as she can get.

“I do not know,” she says, averting her eyes. Clarke notices what she’s looking at: the untouched pack she’d carried from Mount Weather, the tinder that she piled up over a week ago that was never used, the carcass of a rabbit that she’d caught yet was unable to cook—all signs of someone who went through the motions of living, unable to actually complete the acts.

Unable to actually live.

“Your defeat of the Mountain Men raises issues among the clans,” she finally says, turning back to Clarke, clearly not intending to comment on what is so obvious. “They no longer have a common enemy, and I fear we will be at war against each other.”

“That’s not _my_ problem,” Clarke says harshly, and Lexa nods in agreement.

“No. But it is a problem that will require me to return to Polis soon. And after Indra—” She stops, her chin jutting out just a tad. “I wished to see you before I left.”

“To convince me to come with you?”

“No.” That single word stings more than Clarke feels it should. But really, all it does is force her to confront the Lexa that stands in front of her _now,_ and ignore the Lexa from _before_ , the one who kissed her and wanted to change how she viewed the Grounders. “I believe I gave up the right to ask you to come with me to Polis soon after I turned my back on you and your people.”

“Is that _regret_ , Lexa?” She doesn’t know why she asks, because she knows the answer—she can feel the answer thud through her with every beat of her heart, can taste it on her own lips, and sees it every night in her nightmares. She knows the answer, yet she wants to hear it anyway.

“No,” Lexa says a third time. “I do not regret my decision, and I would not take it back, even if I could.” Her eyes soften, in a way only hers can. “But regret and guilt are two very different things. Do you understand?” Clarke doesn’t respond—can’t respond—and Lexa turns back to the squirrel. They don’t speak as they eat, though Lexa watches her intently, as if to make sure the food actually makes it into her mouth and down her throat.

But though she does eat, she feels as if she’s gagging with each bite, forcing it down, unwilling to show weakness in front of Lexa—unwilling to let her see how broken and damaged she’s become. She doesn’t trust the woman in front of her, she doesn’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth, yet Clarke can’t bring herself to hate her, either. Hate her and blame her for what Clarke’s become. Because hate and blame require an energy she just doesn’t possess, a fire that has long since gone out (maybe when she stood alone at the foot of Mount Weather, or when Octavia threw her sins right at her face, or when she and Bellamy pulled the lever and killed hundreds of innocents, or maybe even when her people reached the gates of Camp Jaha and she realized that she could not stay).

“I do,” she says as they finish eating, finally responding to Lexa’s almost desperate question. Because she _can_ understand. She can understand because she feels so much guilt yet not an ounce of regret (she _had_ to save her people, her people come first—before morality, before honor and alliances, before desires, before beliefs, even before who she loves). But understanding doesn’t mean forgiveness, and Lexa’s silence seems to suggest she knows that all too well. 

But much later, when Clarke feels her eyes grow too heavy for her to continue to fight off sleep (still unable and unwilling to trust the Commander enough to be so vulnerable in front of her), Lexa does speak again.

“Rest, Clarke. You are safe.”

Somehow—as she finally gives in to her exhaustion—she finds that she doesn’t need to trust Lexa to believe her.

xxx

When Clarke wakes up the next morning, Lexa is gone.

At first, she’s glad. Lexa’s presence brought back memories, brought back feelings Clarke had wished to suppress. Feelings of anger, betrayal, and so much hurt, but also of sympathy, understanding, and compassion. She hates that when she looks at Lexa, she can see herself, or at least, a version of herself.

She hates that she doesn’t hate her.

But then, as she aimlessly walks around the dropship, unsure what to do with herself, she wishes that Lexa would come back. Now that she’s been found, now that someone has seen her at her lowest, she doesn’t think there’s anything left to hide.

She _is_ weak, and a vindictive part of her wants Lexa to watch as she breaks apart. Because if Lexa did ever truly care for her (but that is another thing that Clarke doesn’t trust), then perhaps witnessing her fall will cause the Commander pain—perhaps Lexa will be forced to share in her suffering.

But for whatever reason, that thought makes her cease her pacing, and she goes to the fire that is slowly dying out. After a pause, she rakes the flames, adds firewood, and then eats a light breakfast (opening her pack of supplies from Mount Weather for the first time).

It’s only much later, when she’s collecting water, that Clarke realizes that no matter how vindictive she feels, she’s just unwilling to be the source of more pain.

xxx

She comes and goes as she pleases, and it drives Clarke crazy.

Despite the daily visits (which only last for a couple of hours, because the Commander “has duties to attend to” and can’t afford to stay), they barely interact. Clarke spends most of her time staring at the sky blankly, and Lexa never seems inclined to be the one who breaks the silence between them. The fact is that Clarke doesn’t want to open herself up to the person who betrayed her, to the one who she had trusted implicitly only to be proven a fool, and Lexa seems to understand this. Yet, she continues to come every day, handing over nuts, fruit, and even a dead rabbit or squirrel when she arrives (and Clarke hates Lexa for it, because the habit of bringing her food, of treating her like she can’t accomplish something so simple on her own, is offensive. She ignores the fact that it’s also kind).

After a week of the visits, Clarke breaks the silence and asks Lexa why she keeps coming back. Lexa looks at her carefully for a moment and responds with only four words: “I do not know.”

The next morning, Clarke wakes up and begins to work: she clears the dropship and the camp of all evidence of death and destruction and covers up the damn hole in the dropship with sheets of plastic.

Though she doesn’t want to admit, she knows why she’s done it—why she’s suddenly so determined to clear the camp. It’s because, while she’s willing to surround herself with the pain she’s caused (a reminder of the monster inside her), she can tell how uncomfortable Lexa feels, even if she _is_ uncommonly talented at masking her feelings.

While Clarke wishes to surround herself with death—she is, after all, a masochist to the end—Lexa doesn’t deserve to walk into what is the final resting place of three hundred of her warriors.

And, later, when Lexa sees the results of her labor, she doesn’t say anything; she just smiles softly and hands over the pack she has brought with her.

After that, an unspoken arrangement is established. Every day, Lexa strolls through the open gates early in the afternoon, looking calm and cool, and Clarke asks her why she keeps coming back. She says she doesn’t know, and then hands over whatever she’s brought for the day. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they just sit in silence, but no matter what, when Lexa leaves a couple of hours later, Clarke again asks her why she keeps coming back.

And the answer remains the same: “I do not know.”

After ten days of visits, it’s Clarke who breaks the arrangement.

“Why do you keep coming here?” she asks, shaking her head when she hears Lexa’s footsteps. “ _I_ don’t even want to be here.” Lexa doesn’t look surprised at the confession.

“You can always leave, Clarke. This is a self-imposed exile,” she says, handing over her pack. Clarke’s eyes widen when she smells the freshly baked bread.

“Don’t your people wonder where you’re sneaking all this food to every day?”

“I am the _Commander_. They don’t dare to question me.” She sits next to Clarke, warming her hands by the fire, before a small smile appears on her face. “Besides, where I go is no secret.” Clarke nearly chokes on the bread.

“You’ve _told_ people where I am?”

“I don’t need to. You are a legend, Clarke. You are the Sky Girl who defeated three hundred of my warriors, who single-handedly brought the Mountain Men to their knees. It would be foolish of my people to _not_ keep an eye on such a formidable enemy.” She bites into her own bread, looking unbothered by the shock on Clarke’s face.

“I’m not their enemy,” she finally says, and when Lexa’s eyes meet hers, she sees more than a little bit of uncertainty.

“My people are not so sure,” Lexa says softly, shaking her head. “After what I did, and your mother’s desire to renegotiate our truce—”

“My mother what?” But Lexa shakes her head, clearly not intending to explain anything.

“It is nothing important.” 

“What’s going on out there, Lexa?” Clarke asks, sounding insistent to her own ears. Sounding slightly desperate. Lexa’s features soften slightly.

“I thought you no longer wished to be a leader, Clarke,” she says. “Why does it matter to you?” Clarke narrows her eyes, knowing exactly what Lexa is trying to get her to admit—what she’s been trying to get Clarke to admit for days—and shakes her head stubbornly.

“It doesn’t,” she says, wishing she could believe it herself. “It doesn’t, but I can help you. I know how my mom thinks. There doesn’t have to be a war.” Lexa laughs—a real laugh, and the sound rings in Clarke’s ears. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard it before, and she suddenly wishes that that is one truth she could change.

“War? Who said anything about war?” Clarke blinks, confused and hating the feeling.

“Then what’s going on?” she demands.

“Your mother has asked us to help find you. She says she will only believe we mean the Sky People no harm when _you_ tell her so.” Clarke nearly rolls her eyes as understanding floods through her.

“And your people don’t know what I’ll do, so they watch me.” Not only that, but her mother must think that she can use this to compel Clarke to return to Camp Jaha. Lexa nods and polishes off the last of her lunch before standing.

“I meet with Marcus and Bellamy later today. Do you want me tell them where you are?” Clarke shakes her head immediately, and then stares the Commander down. Not for the first time, Clarke doesn’t feel like she can trust Lexa (but for the first time, she can’t help but want to).

“Why do you really keep coming here?” she asks, thinking she already knows the answer.

“How you feel is important to my people,” Lexa says after an entire minute of silence. Clarke lets out a mirthless laugh, realizing she should have expected nothing less.

It’s her own fault. Once again, she has proven herself to be nothing more than a fool. 

“Right. I’m the one who left my people, not you.” To her ultimate shock, Lexa doesn’t just leave now that she’s been found out. She instead sits back down next to her, her eyes never leaving Clarke’s.

“I will choose my people over what I want every time, Clarke. I choose to put them first. But believe me when I say that, in this instance, my desires are the same as theirs.” She leans forward, not giving Clarke the chance to look away. “Do you understand?” Clarke stares at her, and after a long moment (after she sees a flash of sincerity in her eyes), she nods curtly.

“I do,” she says. 

xxx

Clarke doesn’t actually think Lexa will stop coming just because Clarke knows she has an ulterior motive, and she’s proven right when Lexa arrives at the same time she does every day.

But everything has changed.

Instead of asking why she keeps coming back, Clarke asks if Lexa is here only for her people.

Instead of saying she doesn’t know, Lexa just shakes her head.

Instead of handing over a pack of food, Lexa gives her letters, dozens of letters from Bellamy, Raven, Monty, her mother, and even Octavia.

And when Lexa leaves an hour later, Clarke finds herself saying that she’ll see her tomorrow.

xxx

Thirty-five days after Mount Weather falls, Clarke manages a real laugh.

Raven somehow manages to follow Lexa as she heads to her daily visit, clearly knowing that the Commander had long since found Clarke. And when she sees her, she envelopes Clarke in her tightest hug yet.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Raven tells her as she releases her, a grin on her face. “Kyle kept saying that you went Grounder like Octavia, so now he owes me big time.”

“Kyle, huh?” Clarke asks with a smile. Raven rolls her eyes.

“He’s a giant pain in the ass. But, you know, I deal with him,” she says, but she has a huge grin on her face, and it makes Clarke laugh. Lexa, who is standing to the side, clearly unwilling to impose on their reunion, looks shocked for a moment, before a small smile appears on her face.

Clarke realizes suddenly that this is the first time she’s laughed in months—it’s probably the first time Lexa has ever heard the sound.

“How’s everything in Camp Jaha?” Clarke asks, but Raven rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“No, I didn’t follow her,” she points to Lexa, who looks slightly offended, “for an hour just to have small talk with you.” She steps (limps) forward, and pokes Clarke hard over her heart. “I know you have a martyr complex. I know you think you have to shoulder everything on your own. But none of us are innocent, Clarke. There’s nothing you can do to change that.” She doesn’t respond, mostly because she doesn’t know _how_ to respond.

So for the next hour, they _do_ have small talk, with Lexa sitting silently next to them, never once reacting to anything they say.

Much later, after Raven has hugged her goodbye, making her swear that she’ll think about coming back, Lexa hangs back for a moment.

“You knew she was following you, right?” Clarke asks before she can say anything. Lexa nods, slowly, as if unsure how Clarke will react. “Thank you,” she says after a short pause, finding she means it. She’s glad she got to see Raven—she hadn’t known how much she missed her friends until one of them was standing in front of her. “She’s happy.” She looks at Lexa with a smile, and shrugs. “If anyone deserves it, it’s her.”

“Imagine how much happier she would be if she no longer had to worry about her friend,” Lexa says, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly. Clarke laughs and shakes her head.

“She doesn’t need me. None of them do. It’s better this way.” For a second, Clarke thinks Lexa will leave without responding, but then her hopes are dashed.

“You’re their leader, Clarke. Run from it as much as you like, that is what you were born for.”

But Clarke pretends not to know what Lexa means. 

xxx

Raven doesn’t keep her whereabouts a secret, despite promising she would.

The very next day, she’s flooded with visitors. Monty, Monroe, Harper, Miller, her mother, and even _Marcus_ _Kane_ all see her and ask her to come back.

“Those deaths aren’t just on you,” Monty tells her.

“We should’ve listened to you,” Miller admits, shaking his head.

“You saved our lives,” Harper informs her.

“We need you back,” her mother says, hugging her tightly. “ _I_ need you back.”

Clarke promises them that she’ll think about it, and she wonders if she deserves this. If she deserves their love, their support, their friendship. When she asks Lexa, the Commander looks confused.

“They are _your_ people, Clarke. I do not know how the _Skaikru_ treat their leaders.” 

“And the _Trigedakru_?”

“Their Commander is expected to sacrifice everything for her people, and in return, they fight and die for her. They are loyal to her.” Clarke looks at Lexa sadly for a moment before squeezing her hand gently.

“I have nothing else to sacrifice,” she tells her. Lexa squeezes her hand back, but she shakes her head.

“You’re wrong, Clarke.”

xxx

“The Commander seems determined to make up for what she did,” Bellamy tells her when he comes by. After the initial swarm of visitors, it’s mostly died down, and now only Lexa sees her more often than Bellamy.

“She says she feels guilty. For betraying our people.” Bellamy looks at her for a moment before he laughs.

“Clarke, she doesn’t give a _damn_ about us. And you know that.”

“You’re wrong, Lexa’s not heartless.” He gives her a funny look, and then nods in acceptance.

“I don’t know her as well as you, but if you think we can trust her then we will.” She wonders if this is a trap. She wonders if the fates want to see if she’s stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

She wonders if she’s willing to gamble her people away on a _feeling_.

The Clarke from _before_ would bet anything on her feelings. She would trust the ties of love, loyalty, and respect. But the Clarke from _now_ is not so sure—she has seen one too many people die despite all the feelings in the world.

“I’d trust Lexa with anything, Bellamy,” she says softly, not meeting his eyes. “But not with our people. Do you understand?” He looks at her sympathetically and nods.

“Yeah, Clarke. I do.”

xxx

“Why do you keep coming back here, Lexa?”

“I do not know.”

xxx

“Do you think we’ll ever be forgiven?” Lexa’s eyes meet hers, and she doesn’t need the deep sadness etched in them to know the answer, a rhetorical question that inevitably arises from her own: _Do we deserve forgiveness at all?_

“When the guilt and pain threatens to drown you, remind yourself that you saved your people. That keeps the flood at bay.”

“That works for you?”

“Yes. Some days need more reminders than others, but yes. It works.”

xxx

They’re laying on their backs, staring up at the clouds when Clarke asks what’s been on her mind since she saw Bellamy last.

“If tomorrow your people asked you to kill me, to eliminate me as a threat, would you do it?” Lexa is quiet for so long that Clarke thinks she’s gotten her answer, but then:

“No. Itrust you, and I know you are not a threat to my people.”

“But to you? Am I a threat to you?”

“Yes, but I trust you anyway.”

xxx

“Why do you keep coming back here, Lexa?”

“What we did will haunt us till the end of our days. But I see no reason we should bear that alone.” She looks at Clarke carefully, and there’s a million things she’s not saying that swirls in her eyes. Much like Bellamy, she is offering to bear the weight of their sins, but this is the first time since Mount Weather has fallen (sixty days ago) that Clarke believes she might not deserve to suffer forever.

So when Lexa asks if she understands, Clarke nods.

“Yeah, I do,” she says.

xxx

Sixty-five days after the fall of Mount Weather, after Clarke irradiated an entire people to save her own, she visits Camp Jaha.

And later, when she meets Lexa at the dropship and tells her the news, the Commander smiles at her. “Of course you went back,” she says, completely unsurprised. “Your people need their _heda._ ” Clarke stares at her for a moment before frowning.

“What about _your_ people? Weren’t you supposed to go to Polis?” Lexa smiles and shakes her head.

“I told you. My people and I have the same needs.” Clarke wants to laugh—because she knows what Lexa is _not_ saying (what Lexa is actively avoiding to say), but instead she decides that, just this once, she can let it go.

And so she pretends not to know what Lexa means. 


End file.
